To Be, or Give It Up
by NoilyPrat
Summary: Tag off of 10.12 - "About a Boy". Dean, on his way back to the hotel for Sam, thinks of the pros and cons of being in his situation as a 14 year old. Rated T for language.


**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own, nor have I ever owned, Dean Winchester, or anything Supernatural. Drats.

**A/N** \- This is my first published fanfic, period. I love Supernatural, and thought I would try it. Spoilers, if you hadn't seen About a Boy yet.

Also, did a bit of research on the town, and wrote what I found out. I want to thank my own fangirl, Multipule-Characters1-Acct, for her help. Any and all mistakes are mine, and mine alone to deal with.

* * *

Orienting himself once he pulled himself out of the window, Dean glanced around. Once he fixed the area in his mind, he headed off to the most likely route to public transportation. Dad had made sure his boys could hike miles, but why hike when he possibly didn't have to? He worried a bit about money; he was positive his clothes didn't harbor any currency, and after checking the hoodie pockets and the jeans, he was right.

The hike to a more populated area was longer than he liked. Dean felt the time slipping away, and that sense of urgency driving him onward towards Sam and help was dogging his heels. Not knowing the local area very well, he was lucky- he spotted a community center up ahead. Well, according to the sign, "Community Action Program East Central Oregon". There was a lady standing outside, wrapping a scarf around her neck. He took a chance and jogged over.

After Dean admitted he didn't have any funds for the bus, the lady took him inside to sort through some winter wear. He only took the jacket and the baseball cap, refusing anything else. He had been getting a bit chilly standing still. To tell the truth, he could've just outright refused the clothes, but she had those puppy-eyes like Sammy. How could he refuse if she wanted to help out a poor kid like himself? 'Poor kid' – Dean chortled to himself under his breath. At least his charm still worked. She gave him the directions to the CTUIR Bus Service, which was the local bus, and explained how to get back to the hotel he and Sam had checked into earlier.

Dean thanked her, before heading into the bathroom. His whole world was turning upside down, but the bladder still worked fine. Crap, no front lawn. It was just one more thing wrong with this whole picture. Thankfully, no one else was there. He made quick use of the facilities, before going to wash his hands. Glancing up at the mirror, he took a double take at the amount of pimples he saw there. "Son of a bitch," he breathed quietly, quickly counting nine. No use bemoaning it now, Dean turned and hightailed it out, back on the street.

Feeling the time ticking away at him, Dean jogged more than trotted until he found the bus stop where the lady had said it would be. Thankfully, the wait for the bus wasn't too long, and he hopped onboard. As told, the bus service was free, so he didn't have to worry about that. Sliding into a window seat and pulling his baseball cap down to attract less attention, Dean began to turn over in his mind a plan of attack.

He wasn't sure exactly what had happened to him – scar-faced dude, bright light – but he was pretty sure the dude was human and not a monster. That meant he didn't have to worry about consecrated rounds. They were more expensive than normal ones; it was best to use normal rounds when they could. His mind briefly flitted on the idea of a grenade, just to blow the whole house up. He smiled to himself. He really liked blowing things up.

Whoa. Hadn't thought that since he was a young teen, then grimaced. Dean _was_ a young teen now, fourteen if he had to guess. No use wondering why, he didn't really care. Absently he reached over to rub at the Mark underneath his clothes, and then it hit him.

He felt different. Free. Untainted. Wondering as the hope started to bloom if it was just the Winchester luck screwing with him or if the Mark was really off, he yanked up his sleeve. Blinked, then reverently rubbed the unblemished skin there. It was gone, like it had never happened. The incessant pull on his soul was free from it. It almost felt like flying, and Dean hadn't realized just how it had been dragging him around lately.

Was his luck ever that good?

Free from the Mark of Cain. This might be a blessing in disguise. To not be ... that driven rage monster who hurt Charlie, or the homicidal ass who murdered that houseful several weeks ago? Not to mention the demon he'd been, no thanks. He couldn't go back there. Dean had made Cass promise to get rid of him permanently, if he did. Sam was worried constantly about Dean blowing up, and he had every right to be. Dean had barely been coping with the Mark, but now it was blessedly gone.

On an intellectual level, it made sense. If he was in his teenaged body, he wouldn't receive the Mark until he was another 20 years older. It did make a strange sense that way. He couldn't seem to stop staring at his bare arm, until he noticed a rather cute girl that glanced his way, curious. Pulling his sleeve back down, Dean ducked his head a little lower to break eye contact. He could feel a sexual interest, a pull that he normally would just gave a passing thought to, but Dean Jr. had decided that he was very interested, indeed.

Yet – he was just a TEEN. Could he continue like this, in this fourteen year old body? He still had his own memories, and he could still plan and execute hunts. Just the thought of continuing in this awkward body gave him pause, however. This was weird, even for him and Sam. A thought popped up. He'd been re-hymenated .. again. This would have to be explored later. Dean Jr. agreed, standing up again. Crap, no control whatsoever.

A Taylor Swift song came over the radio the bus had, and Dean found himself listening to it.

_But I keep cruising,  
__can't stop, won't stop moving.  
It's like I got this music,  
in my mind  
Saying it's going to be alright  
'cause the Players gonna  
play play play play play  
and Haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate _

..Not only listening, but LIKING it. How creepy was that? Maybe he should just find a solution to get back to being 36.

Dean recognized the area the bus was slowing down for, and jumped up to get off. Time for introspection had come to an end, and how grateful he was for that? He'd been spending way too much time obsessing, which was Sammy's job, and now he had work to do. Tina to save, and a monster to kill.

* * *

The conversation with Sammy in the car on the way back to Tina didn't really do justice to what he was feeling about the Mark, but it was the Winchester way. Dean figured Sam understood the underlying thought, of keeping Dean the way he was, Mark-free. It solved the most pressing problem. Until Sam pulled his gun on Hansel and demanded to know how to change Dean back. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know, but they received the answer anyway. Just to grab the hex bag around Hansel's neck, and Dean would be 36 once more. That was good to know, just in case things went south ... and when has that not happened?

How strange was their lives that they now had to fight the candy witch from a Grimm fable? Not much more than usual, to tell the truth – they had met Dorothy from Oz, and defeated the Wicked Witch of the West once. It was as weird as Dean himself, now being only fourteen.

Heading upstairs, they confronted the witch. Only - surprise! - Hansel turned on the Winchesters, slamming his elbow into Sam's jaw. Par for the Winchester course. The witch banishing potion was whisked away to smash uselessly against the wall before Dean could light it. Freakin' perfect. With Sam's gun in Hansel's hands trained on him, Dean put his hands up, and lowered himself down on his knees. Of course, Dean did what he does best - his mouth did the cracking, keeping her attention on him. Hopefully Sam still had his jackknife on him.

The witch had made a comment about Rowena - he'd have to think about that news later – but Sam had been able to grab his knife and jumped for the gun with Hansel distracted. Dean himself jumped on Hansel, leaving the witch to Sam. He was able to grab the hex bag from around Hansel's neck, before he was elbowed off. Dean didn't land far enough away, as Hansel grabbed a good handful on the front of Dean's clothes and began beating him bodily to the floor. If that wasn't enough, Hansel picked him up and began beating him bodily into the old metal refrigerator. How unfair was it, in this teenaged body, that Dean couldn't get enough purchase to break free? If he was an adult, he'd just pry this jackass off his neck - and punch him a few times! Definite drawback to being this small. After Hansel finished, he turned loose of Dean's clothes and told him to stay down; Dean slid the rest of the way to the floor. He half gasped, trying to get his breath back, and ignored the pain in his back. Dean glanced over at the knife on the floor. He might be able to use that, if he got a break.

The witch called to Hansel, "Turn him," pointing at Sam. Hansel reached up for his hex bag, only to realize it wasn't there.

Dean held the prize up, with a hint of a smile. The small bag, such an insignificant thing, really, to have so much power over their lives. Should he stay the way he was as a teen, or to give it up? No Mark of Cain, to be free from the torment, the torture. Or he could be big again, and actually able to DO some fighting. There was only a briefest of hesitations - Sam's life was in danger, and they still needed to rescue Tina - before Dean gave it up.

Grabbing the bag, Dean willingly turned his back on being free, and took back the Mark of Cain.


End file.
